More than Roses
by shinee-pebbles
Summary: There is a garden, where once something more than flowers bloomed. drabblelike sasuhina story will eventually become clear. scrapped -3-
1. Chapter 1

Forget-me-not: A symbol of a plea for remembrance. "Forget me not" are supposed to have been the last words of young man who fell into a river and drowned while picking these flowers for his lover.

------------------------------

Strolling through the garden, he admired all the flowers that bloomed. Even after all these years, she still kept it thriving. He wished that maybe he could've met her, kiss her and stay with her for a while at least, but time was valuable, and every second he spent here whistfully reminiscing about a long forgotten past, the closer his dead line drew, to kill his brother before the snake killed him. He drew a knife from his back pocket and cut away at some low lying plant, a sprig grasped in his hand, he made sure it was the right one, and indeed it was a small string of tiny blue flowers, forget-me-nots.

With a swish, he was gone, as illusive as a shadow at night.

The next morning she would wake, a gentle breeze float in and she would open her beautiful eyes, and notice the string of flowers left on her window sill. She would smile and know that he had not forgotten and greet the day with soft smile, her heart beating the tiniest bit faster.

--------------------

To leave you wondering: Oleander and Snowdrop.


	2. Chapter 2

---------------------------------------------

Careful not to let the knife slip, she held it steady, slicing of the head of those tiny blue flowers with ease. They lay dying, blue petals wilting under the bright desk light. She opened a book, an old diary, its pages yellowed with age and slid a silk sheet into the first important date, then lay the flowers gently onto the silk, and closed the book shut. It was a closed section of her life, and it should've stayed that way, if it had not been for a friend, a lover who'd been as good as dead, it would have. She laughed bitterly.

Forget. I will never forget you Sasuke. You were, you still are unforgettable.

She sighed, her hand moved to pick up a tiny wreathe of flowers, she held it close to her fluttering heart. How long had it been since I've felt this way? This unbearable feeling of wait, insecurity and doomed hope?

Flicking off the desk lamp, moonlight spilled into the room as she moved to sit by the open window. She lay the flowers out in front of her, resting her head beside them on the sill. The drooping head of snowdrop innocently nodding at her, telling her there was hope, telling her that is was okay to feel this way. Then there were the thin strands of Oleander, its sharp leaves twisting around the broken stem of the hopeful white flower. Caution. The two flowers that would embody her soul for him to see.

So she waited, letting the moonlight chill her skin she stared out into the sky. The blue only made her think of him, the stars reminded her of the rare twinkle in his eyes that he kept for only her, and the moon that so vividly reminded her that somewhere, far away most likely, he was under that same glorious white ball. Somewhere... there is still hope, hope held back by caution. This is what I feel... Unable to keep her eyes open, she closed them, feeling the darkness wrap around her and pull her deeper in, into a swirling world of dream and fantasy... My dreams and fantasies... Hope and caution... Forget? Unforgettable...

-----------------------------------

Chrysanthemums

-----------------------------------

A/N Two very different sides of the story, emotions, expectations, questions. Hope you liked it, review if you did, or if you have any complaints.


	3. Chapter 3

---------------------------------

Red: I love you

White: In truth

He crouched, letting his shadow cast a darkness that ran over her beautiful face. He wished away the world that time could stop for a moment, and let him savour something he'd dreamed of for so long. She was beautiful, she really was and she had waited for him and him for her and that made it all worth while. So with a whisper of wind, he was there beside her, to watch over the angel that had kept him alive for so long. Gently, he picked up the tiny flowers that lay near her outstretched fingers. He let his eyes gaze over the white flower that drooped gently, the tiny vines of sharp leaves that curled around the flowers pricked him, and the barest kink of a smile lingered at his lips. Hope and caution. You haven't given up then...

Drawing out a white flower, he brought it to the moonlight to see how well it had fared in his back pocket. It was still intact, not a bruise on any one of its feathered petals. It was perfect, save from the bright red streak he drew with his thumb. He lay it down gently, his blood sliding into small pearls of red that clung onto stained white.

Almost melting into the shadows of her room, he brought her a white linen blanket, draping in softly over her bare shoulders. She sighed softly and he knew he would have to go soon, still... He would spend every second he could beside her, staring out at the night, each lost in their own dreams. Leaning down, almost cheek to cheek with the girl of his, he carefully brushed the stray strands of indigo from her face, tucking it behind her ear as he pressed his lips to her cheek.

"Good Bye Hinata."

And then she was alone, left with his three words to sink into her mind like thorns on flesh.

---------------------------

Azalea

----------------------------

A/N I hope you can understand the story vaguely, please review, if you have any questions of opinions that niggle in the back of your mind, because I'd love to hear them.


	4. Chapter 4

--------------------------

It was early dawn, when the sun had barely risen, only golden wisps of its top peeping out behind the horizon when she woke from a dream that couldn't really be called a nightmare or a dream either. Bringing a hand to her cheek, she felt the strange warmth that burned there and biting back the strangled whimpers that were stuck in her throat she wondered wether it had been a dream, Was it just a figment of imagination that her mind had drawn out to make her feel again? Or possibly even more, but it was made clear that it was in deed real when her hand brushed past a flower that replaced her own. Reaching out, she held it close to her, not missing the still slick gash of red as the tears that she couldn't hold in any longer began to dampen the ledge of wood that deemed their only connection to each other. Large blotches of a darker wood appeared and if one was to be awake and to listen carefully, the singing of the dawn birds and her despairing cries could be heard clear through the brisk morning air.

It would be another few weeks before she would feel confident enough leave another piece of her soul on that window ledge.

And every night for the first twelve days, he left a single red rose. His flowers wasted in vain on her, scarlet petals left to wither, leaves left to wilt in the paper bin that she kept by her desk, the message he left for her was an entirely different story, like a mental illness invaded her mind and ravaged her soul, the whispers in her ear that said: I love you… I love you… Wait for me… I love you. All the tears that were left unfallen during the day to be soaked up by her pillow at night as she dreamt of him, never stopped thinking about him, and never stopped hurting for his sake.

But one night, three weeks later, one single moonlight flower rested on that window sill again, petals glistening with the tears she shed, a foreign scent of vanilla that was her lips, a kiss with words whispered: Take care of yourself for me. The unspoken thoughts: Our passion is as fragile as a spider silk thread, and a soul that had finally understood why it was aching.

So that lone flower waited, watching so silently the night and it's quiet reverence, alone on that open ledge, the windows flung wide open, waiting for him, like she had so faithfully done since they were barely the age of four.

--------------------------------------

: Tulip, feathered or flamed.

A/N Yes.. It's been a while, so better or worse? Or just … the same? I'll soon be digging deeper into the backgrounds, so if you've bared with me on this one, I congradulate you. -applause-


End file.
